Chapter 38: Echoes Beneath the Silence
The silence that followed was not relief. It was a warning.
Kratos took one slow step forward, the weight of the Leviathan Axe dragging at his arm like a chain. The temple's ruined hall seemed to bend around him, the air thick with a tension that tasted metallic on his tongue. The Ninth had retreated, but the shadows it left behind were not gone—they clung to the corners, trembling like creatures waiting to be born again.
Atreus stayed close, his breathing uneven. Kratos could feel the boy's fear, sharp and electric, but beneath that fear was something else… something the Ninth had stirred awake in him. A doubt. A tremor in the spirit.
They reached the end of the hall, yet instead of a doorway or a passage, they found only a wall—smooth, seamless stone, untouched by battle.
Atreus frowned. "This wasn't here before… was it?"
Kratos grunted. "It is a trick."
He reached forward, placing his hand against the stone. It felt wrong. Too cold. Too still. As if it was not part of the world at all, but something the Ninth had conjured from the emptiness between thoughts.
A voice whispered then—faint, from nowhere and everywhere.
Turn back.
The stone beneath Kratos' hand rippled like water.
Before he could react, the wall split open with a sound like cracking bone.
A narrow corridor stretched beyond—pitch black, a void disguised as a passage. Cold wind swept from within, carrying the scent of wet earth, old blood, and something far older. Something that should never have been awakened.
Atreus hesitated. "Father… I don't like this place."
Kratos looked down at him, eyes steady. "Fear is expected. But we move."
He stepped forward into the dark.
The moment they entered, the corridor sealed behind them, as smooth and seamless as before. They were trapped. Kratos expected this. Expected worse. The Ninth had no intention of letting them walk free.
The corridor twisted unnaturally, the air heavy with an invisible pulse. The walls hummed softly, like they were alive—breathing, listening.
Their steps echoed. Then their echoes slowed.
Then… stopped.
Atreus froze. "Father… did you hear that?"
Kratos listened. No sound returned to them. No echo. As if the corridor had swallowed their movements entirely.
Then—
A scream reverberated through the stone.
It wasn't a sound of pain. It was a sound of remembering—deep, agonizing, ancient. It clawed at Kratos' skull, dragging memories from him with brutal precision.
A battlefield soaked in blood. Chains wrapped around his wrists. A mountain of bodies. A promise broken. A son lost.
Kratos clenched his teeth, forcing the visions back.
Atreus gasped, stumbling. "I… I saw things. Father, I saw—"
"Do not speak it," Kratos growled. "This place feeds on what we say. And what we feel."
They pressed forward.
The corridor widened into a cavern carved in shapes that made no mortal sense—angles collapsing into curves, walls bending in impossible geometry. In the center of the cavern sat a stone pedestal, cracked and bleeding faint, black liquid that sizzled as it hit the ground.
Atreus stepped closer. "What is this…?"
Before Kratos could stop him, the liquid twitched.
A shape rose from the pedestal, forming slowly—dripping, swirling, stretching—until a mirror image of Atreus stood before them. Pale. Hollow-eyed. Lips parted in a smile that carried no warmth.
Atreus stumbled back. "What—"
The double tilted its head, voice soft and poisonous. "He will fail you. He always does."
Kratos stepped between them, axe drawn. "Enough."
But the double ignored him. Its gaze stayed fixed on the real Atreus, studying him like prey.
"He fears what you will become. He fears losing control. He fears you."
"Stop," Atreus whispered.
The double's smile widened. "Deep down… he knows you are not strong enough. And he—"
Kratos struck.
The axe passed through the double like through smoke—but the world screamed.
The cavern twisted. Walls liquefied into shadows. The ground trembled beneath their feet. Darkness poured from the double's wound, spreading across the stone like ink.
Then—
A second figure stepped from the darkness.
This one was Kratos.
His face was a mask of rage twisted beyond reason. His body scarred with wounds he had yet to receive. His eyes burned like dying stars. A monster built from every moment he had lost control.
Atreus backed away, terrified. "Father—"
The false Kratos spoke, voice deeper, older, broken:
"You cannot escape what you are."
Kratos felt the words like a blade through the heart.
The shadows surged between them, a vortex opening beneath their feet, pulling, dragging, swallowing the cavern whole.
Atreus screamed as the floor collapsed.
Kratos reached for him—hands stretching through smoke and darkness.
"BOY!"
Their hands touched—
Then slipped.
And the void swallowed them both.
As Kratos fell, the Ninth's voice whispered, soft as silk, cold as the grave:
You survived the shadows.
Now face what the shadows make of you.