Chapter 30 – The First of the Freed
The air in Midgard had changed. It was subtle at first—just a tremor in the earth beneath their boots, a distant echo of something vast moving beyond the forests and mountains. But Kratos felt it in his bones, a vibration that was deeper than any frost or fire he had ever endured.
Atreus noticed it too. "Father… it's different here. Everything feels… wrong."
Kratos didn't answer immediately. He scanned the horizon, noting that the wind carried whispers, soft voices brushing past his ears, voices that were both familiar and alien. The Nine were awake, and even from the depths of Helheim, their influence stretched into the mortal realms.
"They follow us," he said finally. "And wherever they go, the world changes."
They traveled through the dense forests toward the mountains, where the land rose jagged and unforgiving. Shadows clung to the trees like living things, leaves twisting in shapes that reminded Atreus of faces. Branches seemed to shift when they weren't looking, forming angles that suggested more than nature. The Nine were here—or at least, their presence had begun to seep into the world itself.
A chill ran down Atreus' spine. "Father… are we being hunted?"
Kratos' eyes narrowed. "We are being tested. One of them will appear soon. We must be ready."
As if summoned by his words, the ground trembled beneath them. A crack appeared along the forest floor, splitting the earth open in a jagged line. From it rose the first of the Nine: a colossal figure, its body cloaked in shifting shadows and ice, its face obscured by a mask of fractured bone. Wherever it moved, the ground froze, leaving black frost in its wake.
Atreus stepped back. "That's… one of them?"
Kratos tightened his grip on the Leviathan Axe. "Yes. The first of the freed."
The creature's voice resonated through the trees, low and sonorous. "Kratos, Slayer of Gods, Father of Mortal and Divine. You have trespassed in realms you cannot command. You defy what was bound."
Kratos' jaw tightened. "We defy nothing. We survive. That is all."
The figure tilted its head. The mask's fractured features shimmered with light that was neither sun nor flame. "Survival is fleeting. You cannot survive what I am."
It moved faster than seemed possible, shattering trees as it advanced. Frost and shadow poured from its form, curling like smoke around its limbs, dripping from the earth in crystalline shards. Kratos braced himself, feeling the weight of a force older than Olympus, older than Midgard itself.
The first blow came without warning. The creature's arm, long and jagged, slammed into the ground near them, sending a shockwave that threw Kratos off balance. He rolled, catching the swing of his axe mid-air, the frost along its edge sparking in protest. Atreus nocked an arrow, releasing it as the creature lunged forward. The arrow struck its side, exploding in a burst of runic light—but the being barely flinched.
"They're stronger than anything we've fought," Atreus said, voice tight with fear.
Kratos' eyes were cold. "Then we become stronger."
He leapt forward, striking at the creature's leg with the Leviathan Axe. Ice spread along its limb, encasing part of it in a temporary prison of frost. The creature roared, a sound like glaciers cracking, shaking the forest. It swung its other arm, catching Kratos across the chest. Pain flared, but he gritted his teeth, rolling to absorb the impact.
Atreus fired again, arrows streaking toward the creature's head. Each arrow exploded into runes mid-flight, striking with light, but again, it barely slowed the being.
Kratos growled. "Its body is a shell. Find its core!"
Atreus' eyes widened. "Core?"
Kratos gestured to the fractured mask. "There. Strike the heart within, or all we do is anger it further."
The creature advanced again, claws raking the earth and sending shards of frozen soil flying. Kratos swung the axe, blocking one swipe, then dodging another. Atreus kept firing, arrows raining down, trying to keep it distracted. Yet with each step, the being seemed to grow—not in size, but in presence, in the overwhelming weight of its being.
Suddenly, the creature's hand struck the ground, opening a jagged fissure beneath them. Kratos and Atreus leapt aside as a torrent of shadow and ice erupted. The forest around them was consumed in seconds—the air thick with frost, branches cracking and twisting. The Nine had begun to reshape the land.
"Father! It's changing everything!" Atreus shouted.
Kratos' voice was a low growl. "Then we fight back."
He hurled the Leviathan Axe, the blade embedding itself in the being's torso. Frost spread through its body, illuminating faint patterns beneath its shadowy skin—veins of runes, glowing faintly with red light. The being convulsed, and in the process, a glowing orb appeared beneath the mask, pulsing slowly.
"That's it!" Kratos yelled. "Focus on the core!"
Atreus readied another arrow, embedding runes along its shaft. He let it fly. The arrow struck the glowing orb, exploding in a blinding flash that cast the forest in both fire and frost. The creature screamed, its form shattering into a thousand shards that floated, then reformed, twisting like smoke.
"You cannot destroy me!" it bellowed. "You are part of the same chaos that gave me birth!"
Kratos spun, slashing through shards of ice and shadow. "Then we will bend the chaos!"
The being lunged again, claws striking, freezing the ground where they had stood. Kratos dodged, slicing at the creature's arm. The shards cracked, revealing more of the glowing core beneath its mask. He leapt again, axe ready to strike. Atreus joined him, firing his remaining arrows, runes blazing.
The combined force struck true. The being convulsed violently, shadows unraveling, frost cracking. With a final roar that shook mountains and split the air, it collapsed, disintegrating into shards of frozen shadow. The core pulsed once—then imploded, leaving silence in its wake.
Kratos and Atreus stood among the ruined forest, the smell of frost and blood heavy in the air. Every tree was cracked, frozen, and scarred, a testament to the power they had just faced.
Atreus' voice was hoarse. "Father… is it over?"
Kratos' eyes scanned the horizon. "For now. But this is only the beginning."
The forest trembled again. A faint whisper carried on the wind: "We are many… and we are awake."
Atreus shivered. "Father… there are eight more."
Kratos' jaw tightened. "And we will face them all. But first… we survive."
The ground beneath them pulsed faintly, the echoes of the Nine's power spreading like a tide. The forest had been reshaped in the image of the freed being—a warning, a statement, and a doorway.
Atreus looked around, noting shadows that moved unnaturally, leaves that whispered like voices. "Father… what happens if we fail?"
Kratos' expression hardened. "Then everything dies. Midgard, the realms… even you."
Atreus swallowed, gripping his bow tighter. "Then we fight."
Kratos nodded. "Yes. And we endure. Because that is all we can do."
The sun, or what resembled sunlight, struggled to pierce the thickened canopy. But it cast no warmth—only long, harsh shadows. The Nine had begun to awaken fully. The first was gone, but its influence lingered like a scar on the world.
Kratos turned toward Atreus. "We need to move. The next will appear where the power is strongest. We cannot let them gather strength."
Atreus followed, voice quiet but resolute. "Wherever they appear… we will be ready."
They walked through the shattered forest, every step echoing like a drumbeat of impending war. Somewhere deep beneath the earth, a heartbeat pulsed—a reminder that the Nine were no longer bound, no longer distant. And with every beat, the world bent closer to their will.
The wind carried a whisper, cold and malicious: "You cannot hide from what you have freed. The hunt has begun."
Kratos' grip on the Leviathan Axe tightened, frost trailing along the haft. "Then let them come."
Atreus looked up at his father, determination in his eyes. "We face them together."
Kratos nodded slowly, stepping forward into the scarred forest. Shadows twisted around them like serpents, and somewhere, deep within the pulse of the Nine, a new voice rose—a voice older than the realms themselves.
"The next trial begins… and only blood will mark its passage."
They pressed forward. The hunt had begun.