CHAPTER 110 — BEFORE GODS, THERE WAS HUNGER
The Ninth Realm went silent.
Not the calm silence of peace—but the suffocating kind that came before catastrophe. The kind that pressed against the ears and made even breathing feel like a violation.
Kratos felt it first.
A pressure not born of magic, not shaped by judgment or divine law. This presence did not announce itself with thunder or flame. It simply existed, and reality bent around that existence as if remembering an older rule.
The ground no longer trembled.
It bowed.
Atreus stood rigid beside his father, eyes wide, chest glowing faintly as the fracture responded instinctively—threads pulling tight, vibrating like a warning string stretched too far.
"Father…" he whispered. "This isn't a god."
Kratos did not lower his weapon.
"No," he agreed. "It is older."
From the horizon, the approaching presence resolved into form.
It was vast, but not monstrous. Tall, but not towering. Its shape resembled something once humanoid, but smoothed by time and erosion, as if countless ages had worn away unnecessary detail. Its surface was not flesh, nor stone, nor light—but absence, wrapped in a thin skin of pale, drifting ash.
Where a face should have been, there was a hollow mask—featureless, except for two deep voids that consumed light rather than reflected it.
The Endurance of Worlds shifted, its silver裂 dimming further.
"It has crossed the threshold," it said quietly.
"The First Hunger walks again."
Atreus swallowed hard. "Hunger… for what?"
The being did not answer immediately.
The ancient presence stopped several paces away. Where it stood, the ground flattened perfectly, cracks sealing themselves in reverence—or fear.
Then it spoke.
Not aloud.
Inside them.
I remember when balance was not enforced.
I remember when existence fed itself.
Atreus cried out, dropping to one knee, clutching his head. Kratos stepped in front of him instantly, body tense, shielding without hesitation.
"Get out of his mind," Kratos growled.
The void-like gaze shifted to Kratos.
You are loud, Ghost of War.
But you are not unfamiliar.
Kratos' scarred face did not change. "You know nothing of me."
A pause.
Then—
I know your rage.
I know your refusal to die.
I know how worlds break around you.
The Leviathan Axe crackled with frost. "Speak your purpose."
The ancient being tilted its head slightly.
Purpose is a construct of gods.
I am necessity.
Atreus forced himself upright, breathing hard. "You said hunger. What do you hunger for?"
The void's attention returned to him.
Continuance.
The word echoed unnaturally, as if spoken across multiple layers of reality.
Before gods ruled, before realms were divided, existence survived by consumption and renewal.
When something weakened, it was devoured—so the whole endured.
Kratos' eyes narrowed. "You mean annihilation."
I mean preservation without mercy.
The Endurance of Worlds stepped forward, placing itself between them.
"You were sealed for a reason," it said.
"Your method destroys meaning."
The First Hunger regarded it without hostility.
Meaning is inefficient.
Survival is not.
The sky above them rippled again. Brief visions flashed—entire realms collapsing inward, not chaotically, but neatly, compressed into nothingness to strengthen what remained.
Atreus' voice shook. "You want to consume the weak realms."
I want to prevent rot.
Kratos took a step forward. "And who decides what is weak?"
The void-like gaze locked onto him.
I do.
The air snapped.
Kratos lunged.
The Leviathan Axe struck the ancient being squarely—only to pass through it as if slicing fog. Frost exploded outward anyway, tearing into the ground behind it, but the presence remained untouched.
It did not retaliate.
It simply observed.
Your violence is instinct.
Mine is function.
Atreus fired an arrow—threads wrapping around the presence, glowing brightly as they tried to bind something that did not recognize restraint.
The threads burned away.
Atreus gasped, stumbling back. "It's not rejecting the magic—it's ignoring it."
The First Hunger turned slightly, regarding him with something close to curiosity.
You are unfinished.
You carry fracture and possibility.
You could survive what others cannot.
Kratos moved instantly, placing himself between them again. "You will not claim him."
A pause.
Then—
I do not claim.
I cull.
The word struck like a hammer.
The Ninth Realm reacted violently—structures collapsing inward, distant screams echoing from realities brushing too close to annihilation.
Atreus shouted, "Father! If it's allowed to act—entire realms will vanish!"
Kratos clenched his jaw. "Then it does not act."
The Endurance of Worlds raised its massive arms, silver裂 blazing once more.
"This is not your era," it declared.
"The cycle has moved beyond you."
The First Hunger's form shimmered faintly.
Cycles return when imbalance grows unchecked.
You broke judgment.
Now necessity answers.
The rift above widened slightly—just enough to show Alfheim's light dimming, Yggdrasil's branches trembling as if something gnawed at its roots.
Atreus felt it.
Not as sight—but as pain.
He screamed, clutching his chest as the fracture flared violently.
"Father—I can feel it choosing—"
Kratos grabbed him. "Look at me. Breathe."
Atreus forced himself to focus, threads stabilizing as he locked eyes with his father.
The First Hunger watched this exchange intently.
Attachment weakens survival.
Kratos' voice was iron. "Attachment defines it."
For the first time, something changed.
The void-like gaze lingered on Kratos longer than before.
You survived annihilation by refusing inevitability.
You are… inefficient.
Kratos smirked faintly. "And yet here I stand."
Silence stretched.
Then the First Hunger stepped back.
Not retreat—assessment.
I will not consume yet.
Atreus looked up sharply. "Why?"
Because fracture exists.
Because resistance remains.
Because the cycle must test its variables.
The Endurance of Worlds'裂 dimmed slightly. "You are postponing."
I am observing.
The ancient presence began to dissolve—not vanishing, but dispersing across the realm like a stain soaking into fabric.
When endurance fails…
When choice collapses into chaos…
I will return.
Its voice echoed one final time.
And I will feed.
Then it was gone.
The pressure lifted—but the damage remained.
The rift above stabilized, but did not close. The Ninth Realm stood wounded, altered, forever changed by what had crossed its threshold.
Atreus slumped, exhausted. "It's not over."
Kratos helped him stand. "No."
The Endurance of Worlds turned toward them.
"You have delayed extinction," it said.
"But now the burden is heavier."
Kratos met its gaze. "Then we carry it."
Atreus nodded, eyes burning with determination and fear. "Together."
Far beyond the Nine Realms, something ancient waited.
And for the first time since gods learned to rule—
Existence itself was watching Kratos.