Chapter 45: The Throat of the Mountain
The night pressed in like a living thing as Kratos and Atreus climbed the narrow passage carved into the mountain's side. The cavern behind them still groaned with the aftershocks of the Stone-Eater's death, but the path ahead was no safer—steep, claustrophobic, and lined with sharp rock that gleamed like broken teeth.
Wind howled through the cracks, carrying with it fragments of whispers from the Hollow. Atreus shivered, glancing behind them.
"Father… the whispers—they're getting louder."
Kratos grunted. "They are following the trail of death we leave. The Hollow learns. It adapts. Be ready."
Atreus tightened his grip on the bow. His fingers were slick with sweat despite the freezing air. The deeper they climbed, the more the mountain seemed to pulse with quiet hatred, as if it resented their presence.
Eventually the passage widened into a ledge overlooking a vast abyss. Far below, green mist churned like a storm contained within the earth. Atreus stared into it, eyes narrowing.
"Father… that's not fog."
Kratos followed his gaze.
"No," he growled. "It is corruption. A pool of pure Hollow energy."
The mist seemed to move with purpose, shifting shapes—hands reaching upward, faces screaming silently. Souls, trapped, devoured, twisted.
Atreus swallowed hard. "If we fall in—"
"We do not fall," Kratos said sharply.
Above them, thunder rumbled—even though the sky remained perfectly still. A strange, metallic scent burned their nostrils. The air trembled.
Something was awakening.
The Path of Skinned Stone
The ledge curved around the mountain, forcing them into a narrow walkway barely wide enough for one person. The stone beneath their feet was not normal rock—it was smooth, as if something had scraped it clean. Atreus ran his hand across it and flinched.
"It feels… like bone."
Kratos didn't respond, but the tension in his jaw said enough.
They walked in silence, each step cautious. Then—Atreus froze.
"Father… look."
Carved into the stone walls were runes—not Norse, not Greek. Something older. The symbols throbbed faintly, glowing with an inner pulse. Atreus reached out instinctively.
Kratos grabbed his wrist. "Do not touch them."
Atreus nodded, backing away. "Sorry… they felt like they were calling me."
Kratos growled softly. "Everything in this place calls. Everything in this place hungers."
As they advanced, the runes began to light up, one by one, reacting to their presence. The ground vibrated. Dust rained from above.
Atreus whispered, "Father… I think we woke something."
"We wake nothing," Kratos said. "It was already waiting."
The mountain shook violently.
A deep roar erupted from the abyss below—so powerful that chunks of rock snapped free and plummeted into the swirling green mist.
Atreus pressed against the wall as a fissure cracked open at his feet.
"Move!" Kratos barked, grabbing Atreus' arm as the ledge collapsed behind them.
They ran.
The entire walkway began to fall apart, stones tumbling into the abyss. The mountain roared like a beast in agony as the runes flared bright red, burning with ancient power.
Atreus looked back once—and regretted it instantly.
From the abyss, a colossal shadow was rising.
A figure made of twisting bone and molten stone, eyes burning green like poisoned fire. Its mouth gaped open—a maw filled with rows of shifting fangs.
A Devourer.
A creature born from the Hollow's depths.
"Father!" Atreus screamed. "It's coming up!"
Kratos didn't look back. "Forward! There!"
He pointed to a small archway carved into the mountain—a narrow opening barely visible through the crumbling stone.
They leapt across a falling piece of the walkway. Atreus slipped, briefly hanging over the abyss, fingers scrambling for purchase.
Kratos caught him with one hand, pulling him up with enough force to dislocate an arm—but Atreus gritted his teeth, pushing himself up.
"Run!" Kratos growled.
They sprinted the final stretch as the Devourer dragged its massive body upward, its claws tearing into the stone, each movement shaking the entire mountain.
Just as the creature lunged, Kratos shoved Atreus through the archway and dived in behind him.
The ceiling collapsed, sealing the entrance with a thunderous crash.
Silence.
Total, suffocating silence.
Inside the Throat
They found themselves in a tight corridor descending deep into darkness. No wind. No whispers. Just the steady drip of water echoing endlessly.
Atreus pressed a hand to his chest, breathing hard. "Father… that thing… we've never seen anything like it."
Kratos nodded grimly. "A Devourer. Born from the Hollow, fed by centuries of corruption. It will find another way in."
Atreus paled. "You mean it's… hunting us?"
"Yes."
The corridor twisted downward like the throat of some enormous creature. The walls were moist, the stone strangely warm beneath their fingers, pulsing faintly—as if alive.
Atreus wrinkled his nose. "This place smells like rot."
"It is alive," Kratos muttered. "Not stone… flesh."
Atreus's stomach twisted.
They proceeded slowly until the passage opened into a massive underground chamber.
Bioluminescent veins of green corruption crawled across the walls like roots. The air hummed with restrained violence. Pools of black liquid bubbled on the ground.
But what caught Atreus' attention… were the statues.
Hundreds of them.
Each carved with exquisite detail—stone figures frozen mid-scream, their faces twisted in terror. Warriors from different ages, realms, races.
Atreus approached one carefully. "Father… these statues… they look too real."
Kratos stepped closer, placed two fingers on the statue's cheek—then pulled back sharply.
Stone dust clung to his fingers.
"Not carved," he said. "Preserved."
Atreus' breath caught. "Preserved—Father, you mean these were people?"
"Creatures consumed by the Hollow," Kratos said quietly. "Turned to stone. Their souls bound."
Atreus stared at the rows of frozen faces, his chest tightening. "We can't end up like this."
"We will not."
As they walked deeper, the sound of chanting filled the air—low, rhythmic, and sinister. Atreus held his breath as they crept behind a fallen statue and peered toward the center of the chamber.
A circle of hooded figures knelt around a massive stone altar. Their robes were woven from shadow itself, shifting unnaturally. Atop the altar lay a man—alive—his chest rising and falling weakly. His body was covered in runes that glowed green.
One hooded figure raised a curved blade made of black obsidian.
Atreus whispered, "Father… they're going to sacrifice him."
Kratos' hand tightened on the axe. "The ritual feeds the Hollow. They cannot complete it."
He stepped forward silently.
But the mountain seemed to respond to his intent.
The glowing veins pulsed violently.
The stone floor vibrated.
Every hooded figure stopped chanting.
Slowly… they turned.
One pointed at Kratos and Atreus.
In a voice like grinding gravel, it hissed:
"They have entered the Throat.
They are not allowed to leave."
The chamber erupted.
The hooded figures rose, shadows peeling off their forms like living smoke. Their faces were hidden, but their eyes glowed—a disturbing, predatory green.
Kratos lowered into a fighting stance.
"Atreus. Stay close. Take the left."
Atreus nocked an arrow. "Ready."
The shadow-creatures lunged.
They moved unnaturally, bending, twisting, extending limbs in impossible ways. Atreus fired arrow after arrow; each strike tore chunks of shadow away, but they regenerated instantly.
Kratos slammed his axe into the first creature—cleaving it in half—only for both halves to reform and attack again.
"Father!" Atreus shouted. "They won't stay down!"
Kratos gritted his teeth. "There is always a way. Find it!"
Atreus scanned the chamber—the runes on the altar… the glowing veins… the chanting patterns…
He realized.
"Father—the heart of the ritual! The runes! They're binding these things!"
Kratos turned, eyes narrowing. "Destroy them."
Atreus sprinted toward the altar, sliding beneath a lunging creature. He leapt onto the stone platform and raised his bow.
The runes pulsed—bright, rhythmic—like a heartbeat.
He fired.
The arrow shattered the central rune.
The chamber screamed.
Every hooded figure convulsed violently, shadows peeling off their forms like burnt skin. Kratos took advantage of the confusion—swinging the Leviathan Axe with brutal precision, destroying them one by one as their regeneration faltered.
Atreus shattered more runes—each explosion weakening the creatures further.
Finally, only one robed figure remained. It shrieked and lunged at Atreus.
Kratos moved faster.
A single swing.
The chamber fell silent.
The shadows evaporated.
The runes flickered out.
Kratos approached Atreus. The boy's breathing was rapid, but steady.
"You did well," Kratos said.
Atreus managed a faint smile—then his eyes widened.
"Father… look."
The man on the altar was gone.
Only dust remained.
And from deep within the mountain… came a roar.
Not the Devourer.
Something worse.
Something older.
Kratos' face hardened.
"The mountain wakes."