Chapter 24 – The Shattered Oath
The cold wind cut through the jagged peaks of Helheim like a thousand knives, carrying with it the faint whispers of the fallen. Kratos trudged forward, each step heavy with the weight of memory and regret, the snow beneath his boots crunching in an unforgiving rhythm. Behind him, Atreus moved with a caution born of experience, eyes scanning the shadowed corners where danger might lurk.
They had come seeking answers, though the path had become as twisted as the lies that had brought them here. The runes etched into the frozen walls pulsed faintly, a heartbeat of old magic that seemed to breathe with a life of its own. "Father… do you feel that?" Atreus whispered, his voice barely carrying over the wind.
Kratos stopped, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "It is not safe to linger," he said, though even his hardened voice betrayed the unease that had settled deep in his chest. Something in the air was wrong—more than wrong. Malevolent. He could sense it, a weight pressing against the edges of his vision, twisting even the familiar shapes of Helheim into grotesque forms.
Suddenly, the ground beneath them shuddered, and a crack split the frozen earth. From it, a figure emerged—tall, cloaked in shadows that seemed to writhe like serpents, its face obscured, voice like gravel scraping stone.
"You seek the truth of the Nine," it rasped, and the world seemed to hold its breath. "But the truth does not seek you… it consumes you."
Kratos stepped forward, Leviathan axe raised. "Show yourself," he demanded. "We do not fear the shadows."
The figure chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth. "Fear is not your enemy, Spartan. Ignorance is. And you, boy of Midgard, you carry a debt older than the realms themselves."
Atreus tensed, sensing the weight of the words. He glanced at his father, who gave a slight nod—acknowledgment that they would face whatever this was together. The shadows stirred, creeping toward them like dark rivers flowing across the frozen ground.
Kratos' grip tightened on the axe. "We will face it," he growled. "Whatever comes, it will not stand."
The figure's form blurred and split, revealing multiple shapes—phantoms of warriors, gods, and monsters long buried in myth. Each moved independently yet in unison, circling the two as if measuring them, weighing their resolve.
Atreus muttered an incantation under his breath, drawing from the runes embedded in his skin. Light flared, casting long shadows, pushing back the encroaching darkness. Yet the phantoms advanced, unrelenting, their voices rising in a chorus of despair and fury.
"Do not falter," Kratos said, his voice low, steady. "Control your fear. Let it sharpen your mind, not cloud it."
A battle erupted, swift and brutal. Kratos' axe sang through the air, each strike precise, powered by years of battle-honed instinct. Atreus' arrows cut through the phantoms, imbued with the runes' magic, each hit unraveling the twisted forms. The ground shook with the force of their confrontation, Helheim itself seeming to protest the violence.
But even as they fought, Kratos knew—the shadowed figure had not revealed itself fully. The true threat still lingered, watching, calculating, waiting for a crack in their resolve. He glanced at Atreus, whose youthful determination mirrored his own, yet beneath it, he could see the flicker of doubt.
"Do not let them see it," Kratos muttered, almost to himself. "Never give them that weakness."
With a final surge of strength, they struck down the last of the phantoms, but the shadowed figure remained, now towering, its form coalescing into something horrifyingly familiar. A crown of twisted spikes adorned its head, eyes glowing with the fury of a god scorned.
"You cannot escape what you are," it said, each word like a hammer on stone. "The Nine remember… and they demand their due."
Kratos raised his axe, muscles taut, every fiber ready. "Then we will give them a fight," he said.
Atreus stood beside him, bow drawn, eyes burning with defiance. Together, they faced the looming darkness. Whatever came next, they would endure. Shadows may rise, gods may fall, but Kratos and his son… would not break.
The storm of shadow and ice surged around them, and the air itself seemed to tremble. In that moment, father and son became more than mortals—they became a force unyielding, ready to carve their path through the Nine, one shattered oath at a time.