Chapter 878: Descent!

...

Unlike the canonical paragons of classical lore, Kratos was cast from the mold of the anti-hero, a dark mirror reflecting the absolute ruthlessness and cold indifference of the Olympian gods.

Originally a chieftain of the Spartans—a people renowned for strength and martial prowess—he possessed a temperament naturally fierce and unyielding.

Driven to the brink of ruin in a desperate battle, he implored Ares, the God of War, for aid; Ares granted him victory over his foes, but the price was absolute fealty, a covenant of blood and bone that bound Kratos as a puppet, an instrument of slaughter, a formidable weapon forged exclusively to serve the whims of the divine.

Thereafter, he butchered mortals and immortals alike without measure, and to forge him into an even more flawless weapon, Ares engineered a tragedy wherein Kratos unwittingly slaughtered his own wife and daughter.

The ashes of his slain family clung to his flesh, staining his skin a ghostly, chalky white, while a relentless curse condemned him to relive the nightmare of that day through eternity, rendering him a callous, hollowed warrior living only for battle and vengeance.

...

A great hydra ravaged the coastal city-states, and monstrosities from the Underworld slaughtered humanity at whim.

The gods proclaimed that a champion would be sent to deliver them.

Yet, the Olympians acted not out of mercy; their private garden was merely infested by troublesome beasts, and so they dispatched a qualified soldier to cleanse the pestilence, completely indifferent to the survival of the common mortals.

Nurtured by the God of War, Kratos harbored no pity for the suffering populace.

Thus, as he hunted the Hydra, human soldiers were routinely abandoned to perish in the jaws of monsters.

The tapestry woven by the God of War depicted an ordered realm under divine providence that was, in truth, an abyss of chaos and darkness.

...

Consequently, it seemed entirely fitting that someone should drag these deities from their pristine thrones.

The demise of his family awakened Kratos to his sins, kindling a desire to slay the gods in retribution while seeking absolution from his crimes to shatter the nightmare that haunted his nights.

He petitioned Athena and the other Olympians, which culminated in the tempestuous tableau now unfolding.

Though the Hydra lay dead in the sea, the storm grew fiercer still, the deluge cascading like a shattered waterfall.

"Ten years, Athena! I have toiled in service to the gods for ten years! When will you release me from this nightmare?"

"We require one final task of you, Kratos," Athena’s statue resonated coldly above the dark sea. "Athens stands on the precipice of ruin. Zeus has forbidden war among the gods, but Ares intends to see Athens fall."

"Complete this final trial, and your past sins shall be forgiven. Have faith, Kratos; the gods do not forget mortals who aid them."

This was the new decree: Deicide.

To slay Ares, the God of War, who sought to overthrow Zeus by laying siege to Athens.

The thunder and rain gradually subsided over the vast sea, the dark clouds parting to reveal a full moon like a silver platter.

With divine mandates echoing in his ears, Kratos steered his massive warship onward through the waves—a vessel that had carried him through countless campaigns over a decade, perhaps for the final time.

His ultimate trial, and his chance to step back from the precipice of madness, awaited within the magnificent spires of Athens.

In that moment, a glimmer of hope seemed to reflect within his eyes.

Yet, for the spectators watching the tale unfold, remembering the opening scene, they knew that while he might triumph in this grand war against heaven, the end would be bitter.

The more magnificent his victory, the more tragic his fate appeared to those immersed in the journey.

For under the watchful gaze of the gods, the destiny awaiting such a hero would never be the paradise he envisioned.

The concepts of heroism differed between East and West; the West prized physical valor, while the East favored spiritual fortitude.

Thus began the legendary chronicle of a man balancing on the razor's edge of sanity, a saga worthy of a god of war.

...

"This game seems rather intriguing..." The Elven Queen, Kelanbell, remarked as she munched on potato chips, watching the screen from behind with growing fascination.

"Is it truly that interesting?" several elves nearby inquired.

"Indeed. A warrior can engage these monsters in close quarters, while a mage can employ spells," Kelanbell observed. "My, I wonder what becomes of this man in the end, whether he lives or dies."

Recalling the ominous opening scene, she could not help but watch intently.

"Is that so..." Thera mused. "Then let us purchase a copy of God of War as well. We shall play it after we gain this level."

Kelanbell’s expression darkened with suppressed frustration, wishing she could thrash these elves for not offering their Queen a turn to play.

She yearned to usurp their seats immediately.

However, as an elegant and noble Elven Queen, she kept the impulse to herself; she had no desire to reveal her identity, and even if she did, she would not stoop to such unseemly behavior.

Consequently, Kelanbell could only remain seated in the back, her eyes darting between the elves' screens and the others playing God of War, utterly engrossed in the spectacle.

...

"Haah—!" With a resonant shout, Saint Leyton commanded Kratos to tear a monster apart with his bare hands. "Haha! This man is magnificent!"

Rumble!

Amidst the peeling thunder, the sorcerers unleashed Poseidon’s Rage, feeling the divine essence coursing through the magic.

"Oh! If I could integrate a fraction of this principles into our spellcraft, it would revolutionize magic!" the white-robed mage, Adolf, exclaimed. "It is beyond imagination; our magic would achieve an unprecedented leap!"

Athens was overrun with dreadful fiends, and though few matched the Hydra’s scale, their numbers were overwhelming.

Yet, Kratos’s extensive tenure under the Olympians, fighting monsters and gods far superior to himself, had rendered his combat experience incredibly sophisticated—he was a flawless, precise engine of war.

"Another spell to acquire?!" Kelanbell noted from the sidelines as the players encountered another divine apparition.

"The god claims that defeating this Medusa grants her petrification magic?" the crowd murmured in confusion. "What makes this Medusa's gaze so formidable?"

...

Meanwhile, within the Radiance Divine Kingdom, a sacred golden beam descended from the limitless sky.

Princess Isabella bathed in the pristine, holy light.

"The descent of a deity! A god has manifested—!"

Countless devotees prostrated themselves beneath the cathedral spires, crying out, "A deity has descended upon us!"

"I wonder which true god has graced us..."

Just then, a voice like cold iron echoed through the temple: "I am Isabella, the Valkyrie, the invincible deity of the battlefield who sits within the Pantheon!"

Blinding gold light illuminated every corner of the temple.

A collective gasp rippled through the congregation.

"O Divinity, our faithful have been largely led astray by the Holy Light Sect and those mysterious Sun Knights!"

"O Divinity, the elven territories we civilized have been entirely usurped by the Druids!"

"The kingdoms that once held faith in us have mostly been liberated by that cursed Brotherhood in the name of freedom! Damnable fools!"

"Those entities named Blizzard, Ubisoft, and Penguin... they all compete with us for the devotion of mortals!"

"Indeed! When I journeyed to the Orc Kingdom to preach..." a priest implored loudly, "those orcs drove me out, shouting that faith in Blizzard brings eternal life!"

"We beseech your aid!"

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